I hate snow.

Does that make me like the grinch?

Snow is a big deal here, because this is hurricane territory, not snow territory. Hell, cold itself is a pretty big deal. My northern-type friends openly laugh at us down here because people will wear full puffy down jackets when it drops under 60 degrees. It is entertaining, admittedly.

Anyhow, I can count on both hands the number of times I've seen snow first hand, and at least three of those times involved being out of state for the holidays, so it's probably down to one hand, really.

Things shut down when it snows here, because people freak the fuck out - and perhaps rightfully so. We have no experience driving in snow or ice and are unprepared for it so it can be sort of dangerous to be out in it. But also . . . it doesn't happen often and it's not nearly as threatening to life and property as the other sorts of natural phenomena that occur here, so there is a vaguely magical feeling to it.

It snowed last year.

On December 3, actually.

It was completely awesome and exciting and I felt very childlike and filled with wonder as we watched real, large, actual snowflakes flurry around us and watched our patio furniture accumulate a decent covering and watched the roofs become limned with white. That was the extent, as it was too warm on the ground to accumulate. But DH and I stood outside for probably two hours watching in amazement. We called all our family to share our delight. And as it came down, I felt completely and absolutely filled with enthusiasm and optimism and hope.

It wasn't directed at pregnancy, though we were embroiled in the efforts to conceive immediately following the loss of Chickadee. The snow felt like a good sign, a positive sign from the universe or God or whatever. I walked back inside, brimming with good feelings, certain that this had been meant to tell me 'Good things are coming.'

I ovulated four days later and felt hopeful and confident.

And then it was the ectopic, followed by the shittiest year of my life.

How is this relevant and not futher navel-gazing and chest-beating woe is me-ism?

The Houston area is being told we might have snow! Friday! Everyone is abuzz with the news of this possibility. It's as much a topic of conversation as a looming hurricane, the sort of meteorological event which gathers people together to comment about the obvious around the water cooler.

There is a sense of excitement and a pervasive undercurrent of expectation and hope, as if this projected possibility of snow flurries whirling through the air is the harbinger of something good, hopeful. In short, it feels like the air is rife with what I felt last year when it snowed.

And I hate it. I'm a little superstitious and scared and the snow didn't bring good things on its heels for me last year. Is it any wonder that when the people around me look up, faces expectant and eyes shining, and speak of the snow with reverence that I wish to run and hide under my desk?

But hey, I'll try to think positively - maybe this year it's making up for last, and it will fortell better things than I currently expect. If nothing else, I suppose it's nice to see people more cheerful, more amazed, more willing to open themselves to wonder and fun, especially this time of year.